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Azriel would never know what drove him from a soundless sleep that night. Whether it was habit or the bond. Or perhaps his shadows’ hushed warning in his repose.
He wasn’t sure what moved him to reach between the sheets for his wife, only to discover himself alone—her side cool and empty.
He didn’t count how many soundless footsteps led to finding her sitting on the ledge of the house in the dead of night with tears streaming down her face—alone.
In truth, he’d lost track of many things, neglected many others, in the lovely madness of it all. How many hours had ticked away, slipped by through the constant up and down, ebb and flow of parenthood?
How many of those endless nights filled with cries and whimpers? Cries for a change. For food. For pure comfort.
Night after night. Day after day. They were now led by the routine of it all, a seemingly never-ending dance with Llyr and Catrin leading.
How many promises of “I’ve got them” or the not remotely convincing “I’m fine” from his wife and mate whenever someone besides himself offered aid?
Cauldron, in all these weeks; how had he missed this?
And yet…
How many times had he peeked on Gwyn struggling to feed Catrin, only finding her trying to hide her own sniffling?
How many times had he noticed those circles under her eyes grow darker and more pronounced, more purple by the day?
How long had it been since he’d realized that the sparkle in those brilliant teal eyes dull to murky and storm churned sea?
Now, here Gwyn was, sitting on the ledge of the House of Wind, clad only in her delicate white nightgown. His own damn heart perched on the edge alongside her trembling form.
And even though there was no genuine danger, as he or the House would catch her if she decided to… Gwyn might as well have been alighted on the end of the world itself.
And the shadowsinger, who had been shackled and beaten and held captive, had never felt so thoroughly helpless in all his life sitting there watching her.
‘We can go to her. She will be alright.’
‘Be careful,’ Azriel cautioned as he sent a shadow over to her first, so as not to startle her with his presence.
It stroked her arm lovingly, following the smooth slope up to her face, stroking. She jolted, as did he, but kept her balance. Thank the Mother.
Gwyn’s shoulders shuddered as she finally peered over her shoulder at him, and her expression broke his heart. Her cheeks were not just flushed from weeping, but from… embarrassment .
He felt it. The tangled mess of unease and heartache pitted in the center of his chest.
How long had his mate been suffering? How had he not noted?
“Gwyn,” he started as he slowly drifted toward her. “Love, why are you out here alone?”
She quickly wiped her nose with her bare forearm as the skirt of her nightgown and her hair fluttered around her in the verbena and salt-infused breeze.
His wife didn’t look at him as he kept inching closer. She shrugged. “I—I didn’t want to wake you. It’s nothing, Az. Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about—”
Azriel’s steps were surer, quicker as he stood right behind her. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and guided her around to face him; her legs were now within the bounds of the terrace. Of safety. When she did not raise her gaze, he lowered himself before her, setting his hands on her knees.
“I want to make one thing clear. You are more important than sleep. You will always be more important.” He saw her mind working and before she could utter whatever nonsensical justification that was going to gush out, he added, “And that is not only out of an obligation because you are my mate, Berdara. You are my wife. My best friend. I wish to help you.”
Gwyn’s snicker sounded bleak and wrong from someone usually so lighthearted. His shadows thickened, humming their displeasure at the noise, the feeling from it. He tucked a coppery strand behind her arched ear, keeping his hand cupped on her face.
“You can’t help with this, Azriel,” she breathed. “No one can.”
Her words felt heavy and precarious, and his chest pinched to the point of pain.
“How about you tell me what’s going on, Gwyn, and we shall see.”
Gwyn’s silver-lined dull eyes finally sought and held his own. His scarred thumb caressed the inside of her knee in slow, gentle circles. “Catrin is not eating enough. She’s too small for her age.”
“Says who?”
“ Books by experts, Shadowsinger. Cat should be bigger—”
He tilted his head. “Has Madja mentioned this?”
She shook her head, her hair greasy as it swayed. When was the last time she’d bathed? “No, the healer has not. We are not supposed to go see her for another week, but… I just notice things.”
“Perhaps she merely grew in length—”
“She’s not eating right, Azriel.” And then the tears fell anew and Azriel couldn’t help but haul her into his lap and cradle her to him, her head tucked under his chin as the sobs wracked her body. “She’s not eating what she should. Llyr latches fine, eats well. But Catrin? She tries . She can’t latch on quite right. And when she does? It hurts so much. I’ve tried , Azriel. I’ve tried everything. All the suggestions in the birthing and child-rearing tomes in the library. But Catrin simply gets frustrated and breaks away and then cries and cries and cries . And it… it breaks my heart because she’s hungry and I—” Her admission broke off. “I’m the one who is supposed to provide this for her and… I just feel so utterly useless . Gods, I’m a terrible mother.”
He shut his eyes, placing a kiss into her hair as his hands rubbed up and down her spine.
“No, you’re not, Gwyn.”
“Oh, no?” She scoffed, leaning back to glare at him, her freckles dark on her wet, pinked skin. “Do you want to know what I was thinking of while I was sitting on that ledge?”
He stiffened and didn’t take a breath until she spoke again.
Gwyn arched an auburn brow. “I wasn’t thinking about jumping . I was thinking about…” She gnawed her lower lip before peering down to her hands now fisting his soft sleep shirt. “I was thinking about running away. Only for a few days. Just me, myself, and I. Just to be alone in the silence. To get some sleep. A little peace. Leave my two innocent tiny babies here with all of you. How incredibly selfish am I? How does that not make me horrible?”
Azriel cupped her face with both hands, swiping tears away with his thumbs. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips brushing against the soft skin there as he said, “Gwyn, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling.”
And there wasn’t. Gwyn was beyond exhausted, running herself into the ground because she wasn’t willing to accept any help. Thought it her duty as a mother to complete all duties. Azriel helped, of course, but what happened when he ran tasks for Rhysand? Did she allow Nesta to help when he was not present? Or was she taking it all on by herself?
And if anyone understood the tool of lack of sleep, of stress, could do to one’s psyche, it was the resident master torturer.
“Love,” he paused, his throat working on a swallow. “Love, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. What can I do?”
His wife stared up at him, and everything on her face made him feel nothing less than powerless. But then she spoke. “There’s nothing you can do.”
She sniffed, and rose from his lap, and slowly trudged back to the house proper with slumped shoulders.
Nothing he could do.
Nothing.
No, he would not accept that.
He was glad he’d taken Nesta’s advice after he made her aware of what Gwyn was going through. The eldest Archeron had recognized the signs, and witnessed similar behaviors with her own mother the months after Feyre’s birth. And his fears were confirmed when Nesta did indeed relay that she’d offered to help, but Gwyn refused with the classic I’m fine.
“She’s anything but,” Nesta confided. “I’ve offered gentle suggestions about what we did in the mortal lands when a babe wouldn’t take to the breast easily. But Gwyn kept going on and on about how there’s no reason she shouldn’t be able to and then got heated and defensive. I think you should go speak with Madja about what is going on, Az.”
The shadowsinger didn’t want to be that male. Didn’t want to go behind his Cauldron-blessed mate’s back, seeking medical advice. But he needed help and guidance, not only for her, but for himself.
“Ah, thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Madja. I—I just don’t know what else to do,” he exhaled after explaining what he’d witnessed.
The changes in Gwyn’s behavior. Her lack of sleep. Her shortened temper and fluctuating moods. The emotional outbursts. What she’d revealed about her struggles to feed their daughter. His shadows brushed their support over his shoulder, the tips of his wings.
“I’m pleased you came to speak with me about this, Shadowsinger,” the ancient healer had crooned from her chair in the office at the river estate. “Birthing children is its own trauma for a female, not only physical, but emotionally as well. The body goes through so much in a short time. Then life changes, the chemistry of a female’s body changes. It’s a tumult. Sometimes, it evens out on its own. Other times? Intervention is required. And more often than not, those times, it is those around that see the signs before the one struggling.”
Elbows propped on his thighs, Azriel rubbed his hands together, nodding as he took it all in.
“It is good you came to me.” Madja turned back to her desk, jotting down some notes. “Now, I know I scheduled a checkup with Gwyneth and the babes next week, but perhaps we move it up? Do you have time tomorrow?”
For the first time since finding Gwyn up on that ledge, he felt relief. He nodded his thanks.
Azriel sat with his arm around Gwyn on the couch in Madja’s sunny office, the swaddled babes in their wicker baskets snoozing soundly at their feet.
Gwyn’s fingers fiddled on her lap. He reached over and took one of her hands, lacing their fingers together. She peered over at him, her eyes tired, hair disheveled. Her tunic freshly stained due to Llyr spitting up the early afternoon feeding on her as they was getting ready to leave. She had on a pair of Azriel's sweatpants because she still couldn’t fit into her own. Her socks were mismatched. So were her slippers.
Nevertheless, she was a godsdamn vision. This beautiful creature who had taken his scarred heart in her hands and had given him a family.
“I must admit, I am worried that you wanted to see us sooner,” Gwyn started. She squeezed Azriel’s hand. He clutched back. Inky wisps ringed their joined wrists, never far from the babes they now loved and protected.
Madja pivoted in her chair, smiling. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“I’m fine,” Gwyn said with a tight smile.
“So you are moving around physically better now?”
Gwyn nodded, tucking a piece of hair that had slipped her messy bun behind her left ear. “Yes. I’m walking fine.”
“Good.” The healer eyed her up and down, and marked some notations. “Are you getting enough rest?”
A duck of the head—and a lie. Azriel’s jaw hardened.
“How about food? Are you eating enough?”
Another nod, another lie. One the shadowsinger could see carved into her grim face.
“Good. It’s been about six weeks. How about training? Sexual activity?”
“Who has the time?” Gwyn tried to say under her breath and failed. She went ramrod straight beside him, shaking her hung head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean.”
He only brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back.
“Gwyneth,” the healer began, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions in the adjoining room in private?”
“I suppose, yes. Sure.” Her eyes fell on the sleeping twins.
“I’ve got them, love. Go. I’ll be waiting here,” Azriel said, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “I promise.”
Drawing her hand away, Gwyn wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs and rose to her feet, following Madja into the adjoining room.
Azriel spent the next several minutes gawking at the two miracles at his feet, his shadows warning him that Catrin was rousing—and was hungry.
The door creaked open, and Gwyn and Madja emerged, retaking their seats. As Gwyn sat, Azriel couldn’t help it as he tugged her into his side and kissed her temple. Madja was focused at her desk, jotting notations, before she pivoted back to them.
“Did I get the questions right?” Gwyn asked.
Madja grinned, declining her chin. “There’s no right or wrong, dear. It was simply an assessment.”
“An assessment? What’s… what’s wrong with me?” his mate whispered, her tone spiked with dread.
And, gods, his heart nearly split in two at her words. He drew her closer to his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he wrapped his wing around hers, wanting to cocoon her from any and all pain.
“Nothing is wrong. In fact, you are not alone, Gwyneth. Many females, fae and mortal, experience stress and feel disoriented after giving birth. It’s more common than you know. And often they do not recognize the signs themselves.
”My dear, your body has gone through a tremendous amount of change in a short time. Sometimes, we need outside help to readjust. So you can reclaim your normalcy.” A sharp cry pierced the air and Catrin awoke. Madja peeked over and chuckled. “Well, as normal as one can be with twin infants. Two of the cutest I’ve ever seen, in fact. Just do not tell the High Lord I said that.”
Gwyn’s laugh, something Azriel had not heard in a while, turned into a suffering sigh. She yanked away the pink blanket and picked up Catrin. Azriel shot a look over the Madja, who had already taken notice.
“Are there any issues feeding?” the healer questioned, keeping her keen eyes fixed as Gwyn adjusted Catrin into the crook of her left arm.
Groaning, Gwyn explained that while Llyr had no issues, Catrin’s feeding times were nothing but. “I’ve tried everything, but she…”
“Would you mind if I watched her latch?” Madja asked. “You, of course, can decline, but it may help me figure out why it’s happening.”
Gwyn nodded, unbuttoned her shirt with one hand, and brought the babe up to her breast. Catrin latched for a second, and suckled. Gwyn’s eyes slammed shut, and she hissed in pain before Catrin drew back and screamed.
Tears were already welling in Gwyn’s eyes when Madja reached for the babe.
“Shh,” Madja comforted and rocked the frustrated girl, whose mouth was wide open in a hearty cry.
“I—I can try again,” Gwyn gasped, nodding vigorously. “I can.”
“Ah,” Madja said while looking into Catrin’s gaping mouth. “I see.”
“See what? Is something wrong?” Gwyn pleaded, her frantic gaze darting to Azriel and back to their baby. Azriel immediately captured her trembling hand, stilling her. He sent a breather, a wave of calm through the bond.
The healer inclined the baby girl’s head back for them to see. “See her tongue? That little piece of skin at the tip?” They both nodded. “That shouldn’t be there. It’s not uncommon, but this is very close to the front of her mouth. It’s not allowing her to latch properly because of how it places the tip of her tongue.” She turned her attention back to Gwyn. “And why you were experiencing so much pain? That is not to say you do not feel slight discomfort during early breastfeeding, but it should not be excruciating.”
Azriel watched Gwyn nod in understanding.
“So, do we have to fix her tongue?” Azriel asked, worry creasing his forehead.
“I would suggest so, and to do it sooner rather than later. There may be teeth issues, and speech difficulties to arise if we wait. Or, sometimes, it simply remedies itself by separating, tearing on its own. Certainly, it’s up to you to decide. All we have to do is a simple tongue clipping.”
Tension raced through him at the word clipping , with his winged little daughter in the ancient healer’s capable arms. Gwyn reached over to him and gripped his forearm. Had she sensed his panic?
“Allow me to explain, Spymaster. By clipping, I mean a slight cut to the thin piece of skin to allow the tongue unrestricted motion. The babe will not even need pain medication. But if she does, I have an elixir at the ready.”
“And then will she be able to feed from me?” Gwyn asked hurriedly, her eyes shiny.
Madja handed Catrin back to Gwyn, settling a steady hand on the young Valkyrie’s shoulder. “It may make feedings easier, but some babes simply do not take to the breast. Some babies prefer a bottle better.” And before Gwyn could rebut, the healer went on. “That does not mean you failed, dear. There is nothing to be ashamed of. This does not mean there is something wrong with you or her. This simply means your baby eats this way. And the most important thing here is full bellies, right?”
Gwyn stared down at Catrin, smoothing back her ebony hair as downy as feathers. “Yes.”
“And you know what else, Gwyneth? Your health matters, too. You matter.”
“But they need me all the time,” Gwyn said, her weary eyes still trained on the infant nestled in her arms.
“You’re not alone in this,” Azriel finally said around the knot of emotion. “We’re in this together. I’ve got your back and both flanks, Gwyn. Always.”
Gwyn smirked, glancing at him sidelong. “I didn’t know we needed to think of child-rearing as battle , Shadowsinger.”
Azriel snorted, leaning over to Catrin, stroking the back of his pointer finger down her round cheek. “Neither did I. But Madja is right. Your health, and your needs, are just as important as theirs. If you don’t take care of yourself, how can you expect to take care of them?”
Gwyn shuddered out an exhale. Throat working on a hard swallow, she nodded. “I know. I know this. I’m just so tired .”
“I know, love. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize I—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. It’s not your fault, Azriel. I should have told you I was struggling…”
“I should have noticed sooner, but I’ve been too preoccupied with the children and work…”
“You’ve been overworked, Shadowsinger—”
“So have you, mate. Until further notice, I am going to tell Rhysand I am no longer available for recon missions outside of this court.” As she opened her mouth, he declared, “ You are far more important. Llyr and Catrin are more important. Always will be.”
‘Always,’ the shadows crooned in agreement.
“And the High Lord, as a mother-henning father himself, will understand,” Madja supplied as she hurriedly scribed on parchment. “I have some suggestions and remedies that will help.”
Six weeks later…
Azriel held the bottle as Catrin gulped down the last ounce of the cream-colored drink inside. Formula, Madja had called it. A concoction made to mimic the consistency and nutrition of breastmilk.
After Catrin’s tongue clipping, which thank the merciful Cauldron took less than two seconds and the infant barely awoke during, Gwyn had found the babe still not wanting to latch. Finally, his lovely, stubborn wife accepted that was just not how their strong-willed daughter wanted her food.
But, ever persistent in a mission, Gwyn squeezed breastmilk into bottles nightly—and only found herself awake pumping milk between feedings when she should be resting.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she ultimately admitted to him one night as she plopped face down onto their mattress after settling Llyr back to sleep in his bassinet in the corner of their room.
“Then don’t,” Azriel said, drawing circles on her back. “You need to rest, Gwyn. What do you say we give the formula a try?”
Surprisingly, Gwyneth Berdara relented and agreed.
For several weeks now, life had found a rhythm. Unlike the rocky turbulence and unpredictability of a storm, there was calmness. Up and downs. Awake and asleep. Baby time and free time.
Gwyn had taken up mind-stilling and practicing Valkyrie stretching poses in the early dawn hours on the rooftop while he took Catrin’s feeding time with the bottle. Now there was no trouble eating. Mother above, Cat ate with greed, guzzling and swallowing the liquid soundly. Until, inevitably, she started falling asleep, and he’d have to make sure she got a good burp in before she resettled. More times than not, spit-up accompanied her burps down his wing, which always caused his shadows to wriggle with mirth.
Then Catrin would go down to nap and he’d have time to get to work reading reports while Gwyn did morning training. And then, by the time Gwyn reappeared freshly bathed, Llyr would awaken to feed, which his wife did while eating breakfast at the table. Gwyn also took the herbs Madja had prescribed alongside her meal.
They’d also completed one more thing Madja had suggested at their last appointment, which may have been the hardest part for both of them. They’d moved the babies to their own nursery next door.
“I know it may be hard at first. But with these spelled conch shells, you will hear if they cry and can go to them promptly. You are still you . Still a married and mated couple. And part of health is also maintaining that bond. You require your space to enjoy each other not only as parents, but as partners as well. Reclaim your connection. I promise you, it will help.”
So, with tears in both their eyes, one night, they had carried the children to their own room and spent the first night watching and listening to the conch shell like two perched hawks—and it was the first time the babies slept clear through the night.
And once the evenings were guaranteed, they found their nights once again filled with well-earned laughter and teasing. Companionable silence while reading together side by side, propped up in bed. Frantic hands and hungry kisses and delicious moans. Occasionally, they’d meet up on the roof for a late-night sparring session like they used to. Only now with a conch shell atop the water table, always on alert. And, if that failed, the shadows were never far from the two little ones’ sides.
With each new day, Azriel saw the burdensome pressure on Gwyn’s shoulders lessen. Those teal eyes brightening and her genuine smile coming more freely. She giggled and snorted and played. She worked and bantered. Had fun again.
And today, as she finished blowing raspberries at a babbling Llyr in her lap, Gwyn said, “I’m happy, Azriel.”
He smiled back, and for the first time in perhaps a year, the shadowsinger felt like he could truly breathe . For his Gwyn was once again healthy and happy. So were his children. And gods above, wasn’t that a wondrous thing?